Mine
by DivaMaggs
Summary: A rewrite of an *ancient* story from my old account. Meg LaCroix is proud, beautiful, and about to fall hard for the darkest wizard of her time. Rated M for future sexy stuff.
1. Entrez

**Foreword: Hi, guys! This is gonna be the longest author's note I do, so please bear with me. So, back in the 8th grade, I had an account where I wrote terrible self-insert OC stories, some of which I've decided to retool into something a little more readable. This was my first ever fan fiction, under the title _Mine Alone_ in its early form, and it. Was. Terrible. I'm basically completely redoing the character Meg, and not shying away from the darker parts of her relationship with Tom. This story works under the AU assumption that Tom Riddle can feel ****_some_** **type of love. That being said, Meg and Tom will NOT have a healthy relationship, and my goal is not to romanticize it. If there's anything triggering within any chapter, I'll mention it in the note at the top, so you guys have a heads up. Thank you so much for reading!**

 **Summer, 1952**

 _Oh, God. Oh, this is the part where my life flashes before my eyes. I don't want... I don't want to see it, it's- I know what I did. The house in the moors, the summers in France. Papa... my first year, the sorting hat. Years at school, lonely, but ravenously learning whatever I could. And then I'm fifteen. Fifteen was so important, and I didn't know, I swear I didn't. It would have been different if I'd known. Oh! There I am, and there's... oh..._

 **September, 1943**

I had ridden the train before, of course, every year. And other trains besides. Mother found them distastefully muggle, but Papa always insisted on taking them when we visited the aunties in Provence. Usually, travel made me sleepy, the momentum and sway. On this day, on this train, however, I was wide awake. My brain tingled with the promise of at last returning to the school. I sat watching the green hills roll past with somewhat veiled interest. I had chosen an otherwise unoccupied car. First, it avoided the trouble of socializing with my peers; second, it allowed me to hum to myself the tune I'd picked up from my last trip to a London cinema.

It was a catchy tune, and I was engrossed in the swells of its melody. So engrossed, in fact, that I wasn't aware of Tom's presence until he spoke.

"What is that?"

"Mm?" I met his eyes, hoping he didn't catch the slight jump I'd given.

"The song." He sat opposite me, his long legs spreading, his head lolled to one side. "What is it?" He always looked so comfortable. I hated that.

"It's 'You Made Me Love You.' It's from an American picture."

"Hm." He blinked slowly. "I don't go to the pictures."

"No, I don't suppose you would." I lifted my chin and turned my face pointedly back to the window. He was quiet after that, but I had the distinct suspicion that he was staring at me.

About fifteen minutes prior to our arrival at the Hogsmead station, he broke the silence to say, "I suppose we should put on our robes."

I didn't look away from the window. "Mine is in here." I waited for the sound of steps, then the door opening and closing, before I quietly unfolded the robe on the seat beside me and slipped it on, along with my school tie.

I hadn't expected him to return, so the next time I heard the door open, I did turn to watch him enter. We were both standing now, Tom several inches taller than I. I hated the way the dark robe with its forest green lining looked against his pale skin. He eyed my matching garb with slightly widened eyes. "You're in Slytherin." It wasn't a question, but it certainly sounded like one.

"Yes." I rolled my shoulders back, standing straight. "I'm also in your year."

Tom recovered quickly, returning his face to its usual _ennui_. He shrugged. "I didn't know." I may have been projecting, but I thought I heard an air of defensiveness.

The rest of the trip passed in true, uninterrupted silence. It was the first time I spoke to Tom Riddle, but not the last.


	2. Se Lever

**I'm writing these first few chapters** ** _en masse_** **since they're being built on a lot of the structure of the old version of the story. Updates will probably slow down a little once I've run out of old chapters. Then again, I** ** _am_** **on semester break, so who knows? Thanks for reading!**

I next spoke to Tom in October of that same year. It was a cold morning, and when I woke, I saw that the other beds were empty.

"Blast!" The clock on the wall informed me that I had overslept by more than an hour. With only a precious few minutes until my morning charms lesson, I pulled my uniform on haphazardly and dashed out of the common room, pulling bobby pins out of my hair and dropping them carelessly on the staircase to the ground floor of the castle. I was halfway through the entry hall when I realized the absence of my book bag. I muttered a string of unladylike curses, halting for a moment before breaking into a run in the direction of the library. I paused only to slide off my shoes part of the way up one of the moving staircases.

Once I reached the library, I ducked into the Deadly Foliage section, the locus of my most recent visit, and swung the leather rucksack leaning against the shelves up onto my shoulders, grunting slightly under the sudden weight. I was fully intent on running straight to my first class, shoes in hand, when I found myself falling front-first to the ground.

"Oof." I winced as my forehead struck the thin rug, feeling the hardness of the stone floor beneath it. Once the ringing in my ears had subsided, I pushed myself up to a somewhat more dignified sitting position and looked to see what I had tripped over. Or rather, _whom_ I had tripped over.

Tom, looking more openly shocked than I'd ever seen him, rose quickly out of the armchair he'd been inhabiting when I'd rushed past him. He extended a hand. I considered it for a moment before taking it and leveraging myself to my feet. "I apologize for the... trip," he grinned, holding onto my hand for longer than was strictly appropriate. "But I certainly wasn't expecting to cross paths with a speeding bullet."

I huffed, pulling my hand away. "Well, _I_ wasn't... What- why aren't you in class?"

"Why..." He looked confused, then surprised, then downright gleeful in quick succession. This was more emotional range than I'd ever seen him exhibit. "What's your name?"

I held my head up. "Marguerite LaCroix. Although Meg will suffice."

"Meg." He grinned crookedly at me. I hated that smile. "Can you tell me what day it is?"

"Day?" A crease formed between my eyebrows. "Why, it's-"

"Sunday." He was nearly laughing.

"Sunday," I repeated, feeling numb. I walked slowly to the chair nearest Tom's and sat down heavily, my head falling into my lap. I let out a muffled, "So I didn't have class this morning?"

Tom returned to his chair. "I'm afraid not. Sit up."

He said it with such authority that I did, on impulse alone. From the bag beside his chair, Tom retrieved a newspaper and a metal flask. He handed me both and then silently returned to his own reading.

I almost have to laugh. Do you know what I though? _That Tom Riddle isn't so bad._


	3. Joyeux

**So, I'm not _hella_ sure that Abraxas Malfoy was at Hogwarts with Riddle, because I couldn't find a date of birth for him, but I _think_ the timeline works. This chapter's sort of a lead in to the "Christmas Episode," and we start to see Meg fall for the charming little psychopath. Enjoy!**

It became a ritual between Tom and I. Sundays in the library with leisure reading and a flask of potent firewhiskey. He never told me where he got the liqueur. I never asked. Things passed in this fashion, and nothing really changed until winter holiday.

By mid December, classes were out, and most students had opted to go home, preferring to spend the holiday with their families. Many of the Slytherin girls were starting the holiday with a sleepover at Dorothy Parkinson's manor. I could think of nothing I'd like less than spending the night in some strange house with ten giggling teenage girls, so I'd politely, if somewhat haughtily, declined the invitation.

On the first day of the break, a chilly Wednesday, I rose early, enjoying the sensation of having the dormitory to myself. I spent a good long time unpinning my dark curls and painting a cherry red pout on my lips like the ones I'd seen on Clara Bow and Mae West. I curled my lashes and took great pleasure in casting flirtatious gazes at my reflection. I wore a white dress that hugged my rapidly developing curves in ways my school uniform could never quite manage. Having never stayed at the school over break before, I made the assumption that I'd have the castle essentially to myself. I always appreciated an opportunity to practice the latest cosmetic techniques away from the critical eyes of my housemates.

Once I felt suitably "dolled," I wrapped a plush blanket around my shoulders and ventured to the common room, where a warm flame burned perpetually in the fireplace. In the warm firelight, I stretched out languorously on my blanket in a state of absolute bliss - until I heard him clear his throat behind me.

"Oh!" I jumped up, spinning to face him. It was Tom, of course. When wasn't it Tom? The way his eyes traced the lines of my dress was not lost on me. I knew the effect I had, even at the tender age of fifteen. Still, something about his blatant leering was affecting _me_. "What are _you_ doing here?" My tone was enough to snap his eyes back to mine.

"I always stay," he replied coolly. "Is this your first time?"

"Yes." I did what I could to match his ice-water tone, despite the heat I was feeling at the intensity of his gaze. "I didn't really feel like subjecting myself to my family for an extended period of time."

"Really?" I caught the interest in his voice, and so did he. "And why is that?" he added, regaining his disinterested facade.

I groaned. "Don't do that."

"Don't do what?"

"Act as though you don't care what I have to say when you and I both know you do. Honestly," I chided, "you sound like Abraxas Malfoy." This made him laugh. A real, warm, surprised laugh.

"Well, you sound just like the matron at the or-" He stopped himself. All the laughter left his eyes, and his face drained, if possible, even paler than his usual ivory. "Don't meddle," he snapped.

"Tom!" I flung back sharply. "There is no need for... for whatever that was! You know, I was almost beginning to enjoy talking to you, but then you reminded me of how big a rude, miserable prat you are!" I turned on my heel and returned to my dormitory.

After nearly an hour of sulking, I considered going back and apologizing, if only because I had left my blanket, and it was cold in the room. No sooner had the thought of reconciliation crossed my mind than I saw my blanket hover of its own accord through the door way and onto my bed. It set itself gently down over my legs, and I saw the small piece of scrap parchment lying in the middle of it. Written in a neat calligraphy were the words "I'm sorry." I hugged the blanket to my chest, warm and placated.


End file.
